The thoughts of me and my dog who used to be Harvey, but is now George, who is Harvey's great-great-great-great-nephew.

Saturday, September 08, 2012

It was the bubbles that did it

Discovering that the bubbles needed batteries tipped me over the edge. Up until then I'd been coping and reasonably calm. Suddenly it was, 'Givemechocolate, givememorechocolate.' No wonder they were cheap. they didn't even have a blowy stick option.

So it was a case of add to list: buy batteries. Fortunately we'd already collected a litre of Welsh sand and a bag of shells.

What else was there to do? Oh, yes, blow dry my shoes. No, seriously, apparently it's a well-known remedy for shoes that are likely to rub. Put on socks then shoes then give a quick blast of the hair-dryer and allow shoes to cool down while you're wearing them. I'm not convinced. It doesn't help that they're tight at the front and loose at the back. Ah, yes, add to list: buy heel grips.

We can do the impossible now; miracles take a little longer. Five days longer apparently. That's what I'm hoping for my poor bitten and tatty nails anyway.

I'm not sure how my hat will survive the trip. Husband suggested I should wear it on the plane. The thought had crossed my mind but I quickly cast it back to the deep yonder where it belongs. My hat will have to take its chances in the suitcase with the jar of Dolmio, packets of spaghetti and some Parmigiano. Something about coals and Newcastle, yes, I know, but we're arriving late Sunday evening and staying in a rural area so we were charged with bringing some food suitable for all ages.

We won't be taking any panna cotta. That rounded off our Italian meal (and quiz) last night for the friends coming to the wedding. Braesola with rocket, parmigiano and balsamic dressing was followed by lasagne (my usual meaty one not the proper authentic Italian sort).